


fever got me aching

by knightswatch



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: First Kiss, Getting Together, M/M, Mentions of neglect, Pining, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-23
Updated: 2015-10-23
Packaged: 2018-04-27 16:42:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5056105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knightswatch/pseuds/knightswatch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>But it doesn't solve Kyoutani's sudden problem-- he's not even sure really <i>why</i> he wants people to touch him. He doesn't have any fondness for strangers and, for the most part, he likes looking so scary that people won't sit next to him on the train.</p>
<p>And he certainly doesn't want fucking <i>Yahaba</i> touching him anymore. He just <i>wants</i> and it's driving him insane.</p>
            </blockquote>





	fever got me aching

Kyoutani wouldn't have noticed it at all if it weren't for stupid Yahaba. He should have been _angry_ with that asshole for shoving him up against a wall and shouting in his face right in the middle of a game, but instead this hollow spot opened up in his stomach and once he felt it, he couldn't quit prodding at it, like a tongue against a loose tooth, he worried his insides raw.

It's Yahaba that makes Kyoutani realize that people go out of their way to _avoid_ touching him. Even in normal ways-- he doesn't brush people trying to get on and off the train, people don't lightly bump him in the hallway, no ones hand drags against the back of his shoulder accidentally. Only, before stupid Yahaba and his boner over making his senpai happy, Kyoutani was blissfully ignorant of that fact.

It's afterward that kills him. It's certainly not like his mom is going to pat his head while she's drunk out of her mind, or in the brief in between's when she finds some will to write instead of burning every publishing advance on whiskey and microwavable food. Mostly, he avoids her and she ignores him, and they get by just fine that way. But it doesn't solve Kyoutani's sudden problem-- he's not even sure really _why_ he wants people to touch him. He doesn't have any fondness for strangers and, for the most part, he likes looking so scary that people won't sit next to him on the train.

And he certainly doesn't want fucking _Yahaba_ touching him anymore. He just _wants_ and it's driving him insane.

“Ah, good spike, Kunimi-chan!” Oikawa's voice rings out after the slam of the ball and he leans over with a laugh, ruffling his fingers through Kunimi's hair. Kyoutani grunts, grips his fingers into a tight fist, tells himself he isn't jealous over something fucking stupid like that. He doesn't even _like_ Oikawa. He's too perceptive about the people around him; it feels like even if he avoids having to talk to him that Oikawa knows all his secrets already. He probably knows about Kyoutani's weird touch problem, hell, he probably knows how many times Iwaizumi has jerked off every week for the last ten years.

The thought almost makes him smile, except from the corner of his eye he can see Oikawa waving Yahaba over to him and goes back to stretching, pretending not to have noticed either of them. He drops to sitting on the shiny wood floor, legs spread out in a wide V in front of him, stretching both arms forward toward his foot. He's just started counting when something heavy and warm settles against his back, not quite pushing, but absolutely impossible for him to ignore. His skin prickles under his jersey and he quite nearly yelps at the surprise of it, shoulders flinching inwards, digging his teeth into his lower lip to hold the sound it, looking over his shoulder with a glare.

It's Yahaba, because _of course,_ it is, with his arms crossed, balanced on one leg like the worlds most smug flamingo. His hair is slightly mussed from practice, or perhaps from Oikawa fucking with it, Kyoutani isn't sure. His fingers don't let go of the toe of his shoe, but he's stopped really putting any effort into his stretch. Yahaba frowns, rolling his eyes and pushing his leg forward slightly. “You're gonna pull a muscle if you don't actually stretch.”

“I was doing fine,” Kyoutani growls in response, but he returns to bending towards his toe without arguing further. Yahaba chuckles a little, doesn't pull his knee back until Kyoutani has to sit up to switch arms. He doesn't lean his leg there again, and the slowly fading warmth of it rests between Kyoutani's shoulder blades with all the scarring heat of a brand. He rolls his shoulders, shooting another glare at Yahaba still standing behind him with his arms crossed. “That it?”

“You're coming to practice more,” he announces as if Kyoutani doesn't know his own schedule. There isn't quite approval in his voice though, and his eyes narrow slightly when Kyoutani's head whips back around, bending his back to stretch again, simply grunting. Apparently he's still not doing well enough because Yahaba's knee lifts to push against his back again, this time with a laugh. “I thought you didn't like doing things halfway, Kyoutani-kun.”

At least he hasn't picked up the 'mad dog' thing from Oikawa. Kyoutani grunts again, holding the stretch until Yahaba decides it's good enough and drops his leg again, this time his knee _drags_ down the curve of Kyoutani's back and he shivers even though he tries his best not to. Yahaba doesn't seem to notice, holding a hand out to help Kyoutani back onto his feet. Kyoutani ignores it, because he's not sure he wants to know what Yahaba's hands feel like when his back is still tingling, making his skin feel like it's come alive. 

“Told you, I was doing fine,” Kyoutani snorts once he pushes himself up, cocking an eyebrow at Yahaba's frown. “Thought me coming to practice was what _you_ wanted.”

Yahaba's frown devolves into a scowl and he just gives a little huff before stomping off to talk to Watari. Kyoutani rolls his eyes, stretching his arms out over his head before stalking his way back to the club room. The first-years can stay and handle the clean up, he needs away from the team, and especially away from Yahaba.

 

Only, for whatever fucking reason, getting away from Yahaba seems to be impossible. Kyoutani is used to eating his lunch by himself at his desk with the rest of his class doing their level best to avoid him, so when Watari comes wandering in at the very start of lunch and gives him a wave and an easy smile, he's understandably wary.

“You should come and eat with us!” He offers, and Kyoutani doesn't exactly feel like saying yes, but Watari is probably the only person on the team who _isn't_ nuts, and so he's probably the best one to be at least a little friendly with. So, without thinking to ask what 'us' means, he grabs his lunch and follows Watari out of the room, leaving his blazer draped lazily over the back of his chair.

Us, of course, includes Yahaba. Kyoutani feels stupid for not asking and more stupid for accepting at all. But now he's here and even if he wants to just turn and walk away from the situation he doesn't want Yahaba slamming him up against a wall again and shouting at him for it. So he drops to sitting next to Watari, stretching his legs out enough to open his lunch on them with a slight frown. 

At least his food is decent-- sometimes he wakes up too late to make his own lunch and has to pick up whatever junk the convenience store on his way to school has left at that point. Yahaba leans over, blinking at his food once before looking back at Watari, combing his bangs out of his eyes. “I'm supposed to tutor Kindaichi-kun again.”

He says it with a little sigh and Watari snickers behind his chopsticks, shaking his head and grinning. He seems to notice Kyoutani's small frown of confusion because he looks over and shrugs his shoulders. “Kindaichi-kun is _really_ bad at taking tests. He's always asking Yahaba-kun for help studying.”

“I don't understand why!” Yahaba groans, dropping his head back between his shoulders for a moment before lifting it again, his hair somehow maintaining place perfectly despite the motion. If he didn't see Yahaba change everyday, Kyoutani would be sure he uses hairspray to keep it like that. “He has no problem understanding the material, but as soon as he has to take a quiz he just—”

Yahaba stops, making a diving gesture with one of his hands and frowning. Watari snickers again and Kyoutani catches himself almost smiling. “It's not like I can take the test _for_ him.”

“What subject are you best at, Kyoutani-kun?” Watari blinks when he asks, his face surprisingly open and easy. Kyoutani frowns, his eyebrows knitting together in a way that he knows makes him look angry, even when he isn't. He shrugs because he's not exactly sure how to answer such a direct question. He's managing decent grades in pretty much everything, at least.

“Uh, I like biology,” he shrugs once again because he doesn't really know what else to do with himself except chewing slowly on his rice and finding that he probably burnt it a little this morning. The both of them are staring at him now like he's done something horrible and shocking and he rolls his shoulders, frowning. “What?”

“I'm surprised,” Yahaba's voice is dry, brittle with sarcasm and Kyoutani shoots him a glare. Yahaba grins a little in response. “You don't exactly have a science vibe around you.”

“I wanna be a vet,” it comes out like a snarl, and he wonders how Yahaba always makes him feel like he's on the defensive. Watari smiles in that genuine way of his, about to diffuse the argument before it can really get started, but Yahaba shrugs and leans over Kyoutani to steal Watari's drink. He leans back slightly from the arm stretching across his lap, trying to avoid it, and ends up flinching when the outer curve of Yahaba's hand drags against his knee anyway.

Apparently it's a dramatic enough motion that they both notice it because they're back to staring at him like he's nuts and he slouches further over his lunch and mumbles a _sorry_ that he doesn't really care if they hear or not.

 

“Are you really good at biology?” Yahaba stops after practice a few days later, leaning on the locker next to Kyoutani's, already changed back into his uniform. Kyoutani glances around the door and shrugs his shoulders with a slight frown.

“Why would I lie about it?” He asks because he doesn't really want to play this game with Yahaba today. They'd bumped shoulders walking off the court, in a way that would almost be friendly if Kyoutani's skin wasn't still prickling from the contact. Now Kyoutani's looking up at him and trying to remind himself that this has nothing with _Yahaba_ , it's just that he constantly seems to be around when whatever this stupid touch problem rears its head.

And the hunger that opens up in the pit of his stomach when Yahaba starts tapping his fingers restlessly against the steel door of the locker is absolutely a _problem_.

“I'm not saying you are,” Yahaba already sounds annoyed, which is surprising because Kyoutani didn't fuck up practice and this is the first time they've spoken all day. Usually it takes more goading to get his voice to go all high-pitched like that. He seems to notice it too because he sighs and shakes his head, looking determinedly _away_ from Kyoutani's face. “I wanted to know if you could help me study.”

“What?” His voice comes out flat, surprise robbing him of inflection. He blinks twice, forces himself to stop looking at the curve of Yahaba's fingers and picturing them touching him. It's not even a sex thing, which is probably _more_ disturbing, just stroking his skin anywhere. 

“Studying. You do that, right?” Yahaba is glaring at him again and Kyoutani rolls his eyes and nods, shrugging his shoulders.

“Sure,” he means it as an answer to Yahaba's most recent question but realizes that was probably rhetorical. Yahaba scowls slightly like he wasn't expecting to get that as an answer, and now he seems like he doesn't know what to do. Kyoutani decides to just throw him a rope once if only to keep himself focused on the conversation and not his weird and wandering thoughts. “Do you want to come over and go over notes?”

“If-- that's okay,” Yahaba nods, shrugging his bag on his shoulder and letting Kyoutani finish buttoning his shirt up, pushing the sleeves past his elbows and leaving it untucked with his tie loose. Yahaba looks at the state of his uniform and wrinkles his nose but doesn't say anything about it. “Are your parents going to mind?”

“My mom's out of town,” he answers, tossing his bag over his shoulder and starting to walk out of the club room without waiting for Yahaba to stop waffling. It only takes a few quick strides of his longer legs to catch up and Kyoutani's glad that Yahaba is at least smart enough not to keep peppering him with questions.

Or, he's glad for it until it makes the walk back to the apartment strangely quiet. Like they're strangers that have fallen in step with one another and can't quite get away. Yahaba's hand almost brushes against the back of his once, close enough that he can feel the warmth of it ghosting past his skin and he clenches his hand into a fist and stuffs it stubbornly into his pocket. Yahaba doesn't seem to notice it, or the way that Kyoutani's ears start burning when his brain conjures images of holding Yahaba's hand.

He's having trouble finding the line between things he doesn't actually want to do, and things he doesn't want to be tempted to do. Yahaba hums slightly when they step inside the building, a curious sound that he lets build from the back of his throat but doesn't attach a real thought to in the end. Kyoutani shrugs it off as just Yahaba being weird and twists open the lock of the front door, glad his mom actually is still out of town on a _writer's retreat_ instead of laying drunk on the couch.

Her being gone means it's fairly clean and doesn't smell like booze, and Yahaba looks around before stepping neatly out of his shoes. Kyoutani rolls his shoulders, nodding his head toward the single hallway that leads to his room toward the back. “I'm this way.”

“Does your mom go away a lot?” Yahaba asks, and for once it doesn't feel like there's a burr attached to his words, waiting to leap out and spear Kyoutani the second that he lets his guard down. He nods, rubbing the back of his head and pushing the door to his room open, holding it for Yahaba and leaning on the frame of the door.

“Yeah, I guess. Usually it's just me,” the doorway is tight enough that Yahaba _has_ to brush against him to go into the room and Kyoutani tenses up despite himself, wishing his could make his body _stop_ reacting so hard every time. His whole chest prickles with a very unwelcome warmth under his skin and it makes him want _more_. He wants to flop on the bed and let Yahaba just pet him or touch his hair or do _anything_.

He frowns at himself for the thought, sitting on the floor as far away from Yahaba as he can, leaning his shoulders on the overladen bookcase that stands against the wall. He catches Yahaba staring at it, a tiny grin on his face. “Are all your books about dragons?”

“Shut up,” he answers, glancing at the shelf and crossing his arms. He knows for a fact that they _aren't_ all about dragons, but Yahaba doesn't deem that good enough because he shuffles across the floor so he can lean up on his knees and look at them with a smile. It doesn't feel entirely mocking at least, especially when Yahaba pulls a book off the shelf and stares at the back for a moment before tucking it back with a grin.

“I've read some of these,” he explains, which Kyoutani barely hears because Yahaba's knee is pressing the side of his thigh. It makes electricity crackle away from the spot, his muscle tensing at the feeling of it. Yahaba apparently doesn't notice, stroking the spine of _White Fang_ with a grin. “This is a good one.”

“Y- yeah,” his voice stutters and Kyoutani wishes that the ground would open up and swallow him whole, because Yahaba looks over with a blink and must see the way Kyoutani's ears and neck are bright red, and then he looks down to their legs barely touching and shifts his knee away. He rubs the back of his neck, letting out an awkward laugh.

“Sorry!” Genuinely this time, it seems. Kyoutani blinks at him, brows knitting together to form one hard line and Yahaba drops so he's sitting on his heels, folding his hands in his lap, back perfectly straight. “I kinda figured that you don't like being touched. You sorta freak out every time.”

“I am not _freaking out_ ,” he most certainly is, and his voice comes out in a growl. Yahaba raises an eyebrow to call him on his bluff and Kyoutani sighs, shaking his head and pushing both palms into his face with a groan. He could explain, of course, that he's got some kind of concerning touch based crush on Yahaba and really there's no measure for if he likes being touched or not because no one else does it, or he could wait for his mortification to kill him instead. He tries for the first option. “It's not-- it's just you.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Yahaba sounds disappointed, on the way toward hurt. Kyoutani drops his hands with a frown, looking up at the way Yahaba's lips pull down, his fingers going from being folded neatly to clenched together. “Sorry.”

“Wait, shit that's not,” Kyoutani sighs, resigns himself to fucking this up beyond all repair before he starts speaking again, looking directly at Yahaba even if it makes his face burn because he doesn't back down and he certainly isn't chickening out of whatever this moment is-- the thought of it tastes bitter like losing in his mouth. “I mean you're the only person who touches me.”

“Sorr- wait, what?” Yahaba cuts off his own unnecessary apology to blink his eyes, frowning harder. There's less edge to it, less of the hurt that Yahaba was trying to hide behind the placid set of his mouth and his perfect posture.

“People don't like me, or they're scared of me, or whatever,” Kyoutani makes a show of shrugging his shoulders this time. “I'm pretty sure you hate me, but it's just I don't know... _surprising_.”

“Ah yes, I asked you to study with me because I hate you so much,” Yahaba rolls his eyes and Kyoutani quirks a small smile because at least there he isn't wrong. Yahaba's eyes narrow, staring at Kyoutani before picking his hand up and lifting it slowly through the air, pressing his thumb into the center of Kyoutani's forehead, rubbing slightly to smooth away the way they're furrowed together.

It makes Kyoutani a little glad that he was blushing so hard before, because at least it can't get any worse now. He doesn't tense this time, Yahaba moved slow enough that he'd figured what was coming, but his skin still prickles with warmth and his eyes feel heavy and he wants to close them and lean into Yahaba's hand. It's not enough skin to really decide if they're as soft as he's been picturing, but Kyoutani isn't exactly sure what to say. 

“I don't hate you,” Yahaba reiterates, and it's impossible to miss the way he's leaning slightly closer, has gone from just rubbing his thumb into Kyoutani's forehead to stroking it along the arch of his brow instead. He's taken something along the way as permission, and there's no way in hell that Kyoutani is taking that back. Yahaba continues staring, his voice sounding more distant, quieter, shyness creeping in at the edges. “I _like_ you.”

Kyoutani's brain short-circuits. His mouth droops slightly open and his brain won't make words fall out of his mouth. Yahaba frowns at his staring, dropping his hand and looking away, shaking his head before looking back and raising his eyebrow with a glare on his face. “Well? Usually people _respond_ to confessions, Kyoutani-kun.”

He can't help the laugh that gets startled out of him, grinning and reaching out and curling his fingers around Yahaba's slowly, rolling his eyes. “You're not that bad.”

“Oh thanks,” Yahaba responds dryly, but there's a laugh following it and he looks down at their hands together with a grin slowly crawling up his face. “So you _like_ me touching you?”

“Yes,” Kyoutani answers far too quickly and his face colors all over again. Yahaba seems surprised for all of ten seconds before he nods his head, curling their fingers together and leaning forward, fluttering kisses over the furrow of Kyoutani's brow, both his cheeks, the tip of his nose. He hovers with millimeters separating their lips, mouth still lifted in a smirk when Kyoutani makes a small noise, only partially out of frustration before they even touch together.

Yahaba kisses in a way that's slow, measured, drawing reactions out of Kyoutani like he's learning the first notes of playing an instrument, making them last as long as possible to learn them and file them away for later. Kyoutani wants to keep up with it, or better yet, overtake him and somehow feels like he's not just a victim to the way Yahaba kisses him. But he can't-- he takes to it like a starving man offered a feast, digging his fingers into the back of Yahaba's hair and making a mess out of it. When he pulls back as much as he can with Kyoutani basically clinging to him, he's still smiling, though it's softer.

It's Kyoutani who presses their foreheads gently together just to prolong having contact. Yahaba chuckles, drawing nonsense shapes along Kyoutani's arms, listening to Kyoutani hum and lean more of his weight forward, a shiver rolling down his spine when Yahaba flips one of his arms over, untangling it gently from his hair, tracing the blue lines of Kyoutani's veins through his skin.

They eventually pull far enough apart for Kyoutani to make good on his promise of helping Yahaba study, but Yahaba finds ways to keep touching him-- hand sliding up the curve of his back, stealing a quick stroke over the arch of his hip when Kyoutani leans to grab his textbook, tangling their fingers together when he doesn't have to write anything.

This time, rather than making his skin prickle and crawl with uncomfortable heat, it makes Kyoutani feel centered, at peace, like something empty inside him has been filled. He likes it and only lets Yahaba leave after kissing him in front of the door until they're both breathless and grinning like idiots.


End file.
